Whereas Milly had as yet to unravel the mystery surrounding Abelard’s apparent popularity with large gunmen wearing small crooked crosses, Abelard was under no illusions either as to the Donatello motives, or to the lengths to which they would go to pursue their goals. He also guessed that Milly, urbane, powerful Milly, had a vague idea he was dealing with a dangerous crowd, but would be aghast at just how deadly they could be. It was armed with these apprehensions that Abelard accompanied Milly to the rendezvous.
They had arrived at the hotel mid-afternoon, hours before their arranged meeting with the Donatello. Milly had agreed to see them, but at a neutral location. That was to happen later in the evening at a private dinner. Abelard’s very first destination was the hotel gym. He had only stopped long enough in his room to change. Ever since he could recall, strenuous exercise had always been part of his daily routine. There were others in the sweatshop, creating a familiar background chatter of voices, poorly lubricated equipment, loud laboured breathing and the thud of heavy weights being slammed to the floor. Comfortable, common noises.
Suddenly a rolling wave of silence swept across the room. It lasted only a moment, but Abelard had never yet experienced the absolute stillness of a fully functioning gym. Then he saw her. He was probably the last one to do so, as every other breathing person, male and female, was staring fixedly at the woman in black. There was nothing immodest in her outfit. Halter top, bare mid-riff and bicycle length shorts. There was, however, everything immodest about her body, as though it were airbrushed to perfection. Each part in itself was not unusual, the other women in the room could make some claims to a beautiful face, a flat belly, perhaps, or magnificently proportioned legs but not one had them all, as did the woman in black.
Being a gym, where people presumably came for the serious business of personal physical torture, after the initial surprise, the hubbub resumed, each man and certainly some of the women secretly wishing that this magnificent creature would either disrobe or, at the very least, ask if she could use the equipment they were presently tying up. Surreptitious stares followed her breathing as she swiveled her head about the room, as though searching for easy prey. Discreetly, as is the rule in all good gyms, dozens of eyes followed her meandering course around treadmills, elliptical trainers, global gyms, barbell stacks and runaway giant exercise balloons. Then, as one, the collective gaze turned to Abelard, curious to see the lucky recipient of the goddess’ attention.
“You don’t know me yet,” she chanted, a firm hand extended to be shaken, “but we are to have dinner this evening. I’m Dona Maria Donatello,” only the slightest accent adding unnecessary extra charm to her words.
“Abelard Bush,” he panted, partly because of his recent exertions and mainly because he had forgotten to exhale when this astonishing woman stopped to greet him.
“I know. I recognize you from the newspapers. You are well known in business circles as a rising star, and being a businesswoman I read about rising stars.”
On closer inspection, he saw that she was perspiring heavily, great droplets squeezing through the pores on her perfect face, neck, arms and all about the slight cleavage she was showing.
“I’ve been for a run,” she said, “and wanted to come in for a stretch,” she lied. She had had Abelard followed and knew he was at the health club. Upon being told she at once made her way back to the hotel and up to the gym. “I am really thirsty, how about a beer and we can talk about what we want to talk about tonight?”
“Sure, when?” Abelard had been told by Milly not to speak to anyone even remotely connected to the Donatello, but then who was Milly to tell him how to spend his private time. Whether he would stay with VBI was also, to Abelard’s mind, a still unresolved issue. Since the incident at the Pharma plant he was no longer sure about very much. His unquenchable thirst for ever more, a reliable lifelong beacon, no longer seemed to need slaking. He was running on a daily schedule rather than the long term plan he had imagined at the outset, to replace Milly.
“Right now, if that’s OK.”
“Sure, I’ll shower and where shall we meet?”
“Forget the shower; I prefer a natural basic scent. I’ve a great bar in my suite. Unless you mind, of course.”
Abelard did not know quite what to make of the invitation. This woman was incredibly attractive and quite definitely, very fast. It’s not as though this hadn’t happened to him before. Not often. Just once, a long time ago, in his vividly clear false memories. He spared a thought for Felicity but in Dona Maria’s presence found he could not hold it for very long.
*
The Perfect Human: An Abelard Chronicles Book Page 59
